


Macaron

by sometimesimeow



Series: Dessert [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Ass Play, Asshole Kink, Dirty Talk, Dubious Consent, Extremely Dubious Consent, Fingering, M/M, Manipulation, Manipulative Relationship, Rimming, Somnophilia, Victim Blaming, child grooming, douchebaggery is a valid kink, unhealthy relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-17
Updated: 2018-02-17
Packaged: 2019-03-20 06:48:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13712181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sometimesimeow/pseuds/sometimesimeow
Summary: After a glorious night together, Willas decides to keep Jon. He just has to convince Lord Stark to let him go. And make sure his brother doesn't open his big mouth.In short, Willas is a manipulative bastard who makes little boys cry.





	Macaron

**Author's Note:**

> The much-anticipated sequel of Willas Tyrell and Jon Snow. Guest starring the beloved Garlan Tyrell because why not? I wrote this thinking it would be what? 5000? 6000 words of smut? Then, Willas became more of a manipulative asshole (which is great cause I love writing douchebags), Garlan got involved, my Capricorn side needs a plot and the Rooster part is extra as fuck. Either way, it went over 10000. 
> 
> Read the tags, tell me if I am missing a tag, and Happy New Years!

For the first time in years, Willas Tyrell woke up without the stinging ache of his crippled limb. If anything, he felt boneless—like he was floating in a flooded ravine. He enjoyed the buoyancy a great deal. If it were not for the wetness and weight on his chest, Willas would have gone back to his dreamless sleep and be satisfied that his day started off in a painless morning. Instead, he felt a stirring in and on his groin that needed his immediate attention.

Cripple or not, Willas was as hot-blooded as any other man. His cock rose with the crowing much to his dismay. He reached down to relieve his problem, only to be blocked by a squirming figure. Willas paused for the memories of last night’s debauchery to return to him. He lifted up the sheets to the glorious sight of desecration.

Jon, _his honeyed boy_ , was laid out on his chest, defenseless and defiled. His hole was red and abused, having suffered some poundings the night before and his skin was filled with marks—including a large hand print around his throat. Willas didn’t know he had it within him to be so _coarse_. There was a moment in their fucking where he made Jon get on his back and squeezed his throat as he thrusted in _extra hard_. The boy passed out a number of times, only to be awoken when Willas decided he wanted another taste. The boy was eager to learn and moreover, please. There was nothing more arousing than the ravishment of an innocent, who, a sundown earlier, was the apple of his father’s eye.

And oh, Willas chuckled as he admired the marred skin and soft features, the boy was treasured alright, but still an outsider. Undamaged and untouched despite society dictating him to act like a bitch in heat. Half of Westorosi bastards end up on their knees before their ninth birthday. Willas imagined that all that shelter and blindness may have done more harm than good. Jon was wanton for any sort of acceptance. He played the part of a good son for his father which backlashed in the most delicious way. Everyone must have thought his behavior was some overcompensation for his wicked desires, or worse, Jon must have believed he was a bigger freak for not acting on them.

Willas could feel his precum leaking at the thought. He wondered how disturbed Jon’s father would be if he found his son secluded in some unknown corner, obviously made into the plaything of some deviant. Willas could write words like ‘cunt for rent’ and ‘hole for use’ or some other epithet that would not only humiliate the boy but signify that the assailant was noble.

Unable to contain himself, Willas sat up so that he was lying against the headboard. He took ahold of Jon’s hips and squeezed his ass. To his delight, Jon moaned but continued to slumber, worn from hours of vicious lovemaking. Willas slipped three fingers inside and pried his cunt open. He admired the color and elasticity, and relished in the wetness covering his fingers. He was soaked like a slut, and each finger was being swallowed by the hungry hole. While Jon’s mind was slept, his body shook. He started to grind against Willas’ cock.

Willas grinned like a child with a sword; one that stood over a prisoner in the stocks. He felt unstoppable. The power intoxicated him and made him cruel. Willas stretched the boy until the bastard was so on edge, he was ready to cum. Before he could do so, Willas retracted his fingers so roughly, a loud pop could be heard.

Willas longed to feel Jon’s insides, all bruised and beaten into buttery softness. He maneuvered Jon over his cock and pressed the tip into his backside. Jon trembled deliciously. He was sore and stuck in a helpless slumber; every touch made an impact as if Willas’ fingers were frosting and Jon was cake. All Willas thoughts ended when Jon whimpered so sweetly; the sound broke through the last of Willas’ reason.

Willas had no choice but to shove his whole cock inside the boy.

Jon’s mouth gaped open, but all that came out was a sharp, mewling cry. His eyes shut even tighter, while he started to clench around Willas’ cock, milking him dry.

“Tell me if you want me to stop,” Willas grunted. Jon continued to sleep soundly The Highgarden heir decided to stop behaving like a gentleman. If Jon was to encourage his lustful behavior, Willas had no choice but to oblige. He gritted his teeth and began to use him as a cocksleeve, thrusting into him like favorite toy.    

A knock on the door threatened to interrupt his release. Willas threw his head back and groaned in frustration. “Who is it?” Willas gritted out with faux cheer intact. He never risked poor behavior on one of the maids—his grandmother planted ears everywhere.       

“Your favorite brother! Are you awake?”

Willas sighed in relief. “How would I answer otherwise?” He asked playfully. Jon chose that moment to move—which made a ripple around Willas’ cock. His stirring indicated a future awakening, which urged Willas to act faster. He wanted to cum in Jon’s sleeping body at least once.

The door opened, but Willas continued without reprieve. The sheet covered Jon’s figure, but even a blind man could see the lump on the bed. Willas made little attempt to hide his actions. This was Garlan, after all.

“You’d be amazed at how much one can accomplish in their sleep,” Garlan answered as he walked into the room. “Speaking which, what are you still doing in bed? I know we agreed to a late breakfast, but you should at least be awake at a decent hour. This isn’t Dorne.” Garlan closed the door. Once fully present in the room, he paused. His nose twitched, and he grimaced. “The room reeks.”

Willas chuckled. He was a load away from a great day and decided to focus on that before his brother. He jerked Jon up and down his cock and took his pleasure out of the boy’s ass.

“I had company last night.” Willas made sure to make hard, staccato-like movements to emphasize his thrusting. The sound echoed in the room.

“And this morning.” Garlan frowned. He shook his head. “Now, I know what you were doing during the masquerade.”

“You wanted me to have fun,” Willas reminded. He laughed regardless of the face Garlan made. His little brother was no stranger to Willas’ deviancies. 

Garlan went towards the windows, but before he could unravel the curtains, Willas stopped him. “I would appreciate it if you avoid that, dear brother. My guest is still asleep. It’d be terribly rude to wake him up.”

Garlan’s lip curled up in disgust. “Get up,” Garlan ordered instead. “We have important guests this morning and grandmother wants the entire family there.”

Willas preferred not to leave the bed. Instead of answering as such, Willas felt his release building up. He pushed his cock balls deep into the boy’s unconscious body. Once firmly lodged inside, Willas filled the boy’s cunt with a thick load of cum, most of it leaking out and staining the sheets.

Unsatisfied with a single load, Willas continued to pump into Jon’s hole. The boy was on the verge of waking, and Willas wanted to see his face when he realized he’d spread his legs so eagerly that was _several loads_ inside him. Willas went at it for several minutes, ignoring his brother’s gaze.

Garlan watched him with revulsion and poorly hidden jealousy. “Are you a cow?” Garlan asked. “How much milk could your cripple ass produce?” He turned away to avoid his brother’s satisfied gaze.

“More than that nipple you call a cock,” Willas replied smoothly. “Don’t think I can’t see your arousal, dear brother.”

Garlan flushed. He grabbed his brother’s shirt from his wardrobe and threw it at the heir’s head.

Willas’ laughed merrily. He lifted up Jon from his cock and laid the boy on the bed. While the boy tried to sleep off the aftershocks of his partner’s rough pounding, Willas dragged himself to the edge of the bed.  

Garlan, the pious second son, walked over to his brother and helped maneuvered his leg to a more comfortable position. He helped his brother get dressed while Willas got down to business.

“Who are the guests today? The Tarlys? The Fossoways?”

“Keep guessing,” Garlan encouraged. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you give two wrong answers in a row.”

Willas shoved his brother aside in an exasperated gesture. “Tell me.” 

“Yes, my lord,” Garlan mocked. He sat on the bed. “If you must know, it is the Starks.”

Willas froze. “The Starks?” Willas pretended to be unaffected by the news and made an extra effort not to glance over at the bundle. “How curious. They have not been to the south in years.”

Garlan shrugged. He cared little for politics, preferring the truth of flesh and blood on the battlefield than the lies of a court. “After what happened last night, they never will again.”

Willas already knew the story before he asked: “What are you talking about?”  

Garlan sighed. “Lord Stark’s bastard disappeared.”

“Oh?”

“He got into a fight with his father and the boy was nowhere to be found the whole night. Lord Stark is thinning bones into toothpicks looking for him..” Garlan tried to smile, but Willas could tell he sympathized with the old man. “I heard from our greeters in the campsite that the boy is a quite the beauty, and from his father…well, it seems his father has been successful in denying him…certain _expectations_ of a bastard.” Garlan frowned. “There are a lot of bad men in this world. The boy is untouched.”  

Not anymore, Willas thought dryly. “If the boy is a bastard, then his father has a wife,” Willas reasoned. “I doubt a southern lady like Lady Stark would be so welcoming to a bastard. Those things tend to take their toll.” Willas pause to add weight to his words. “Perhaps he ran away?”  

Garlan prayed that wasn’t the case. “I hope not,” Garlan told him. “His father loves him dearly.”

Garlan was always the soft one, Willas thought as he watched his brother sigh and bow his head. He stared at the floor. “You should see him, Willas. He has not gotten any rest since the boy’s disappearance. All his guards have been dispatched to search for the poor creature. I’ve spoken to him.”

“You know better than that,” Willas teased. “Makes us too human when we communicate outside our family.”

Garlan did not receive the joke. “He says, ‘Jon—”

—A whimper escaped the bedsheets.

Both men startled at the sound. Before Garlan could become suspicions, Willas and his silver tongue moved first.

“Perhaps I am being glum but have you checked Highgarden’s more _salacious_ areas?” Willas suggested. “He could be lying on his back right now, bred by some highborn prick.”

“Do not jest,” Garlan warned him. “The boy knows nothing about carnality.” Willas scoffed. Garlan almost pouted at his disbelief. He stressed the boy’s sweetness. “It is true! His father swears upon it. His father made sure that Jon—”

“Ah!” The same sound arose from the bed followed by a gasp.

“Help me up,” Willas ordered at once. Garlan’s nerves raised—the same type of nerves that occurred whenever he did swords practice. “I’ll see to them that they are greeted with the utmost professionalism. We cannot risk father’s entertainment. Highgarden will be the laughingstock of all the North.”

Garlan sighed through his exasperated smile. “You and grandmother are much too harsh on the man.” He got up from his place on the bed.

“I love our father, dear brother,” Willas reminded him. “But I love Highgarden more.” 

Willas pushed himself up using Garlan’s shoulders and was aptly handed his cane by his brother. When he made his first step, a subtle _crack_ was heard. Any other man would have missed it, but Garlan was a lifelong hunter and knight. He knew how to recognize a breeze in the bush from the step of a stag.

“Hold on, I think I broke something.”

Willas would have disregarded it, but he remembered the many things he dropped last night. His greatest fears were confirmed when Garlan bent over to pick up a cracked wolf’s mask. Suddenly, the whole room froze.

Garlan glanced over at his brother. He looked back at the mask. Then, he looked at the bundle of the sheets and then again at his brother. Finally, the gallant knight grabbed the covers and ripped them off the bed.

“You’re supposed to be the smart one!” Garlan yelled. He did his best to avoid staring at the _thoroughly_ molested boy on the bed. He was stark naked and gorgeous and revived every carnal desire Garlan had suppressed as a man of honor.

“In my defense—”

“ _Nothing_ can defend you from this!” Garlan hissed.

“—I didn’t know he was Lord Stark’s son. I thought he was merely a bastard.”

“Don’t act like a fool, now, Willas,” Garlan accused. He marched over to the conjoining toiletries, where one of Westeros's biggest tubs resided. “I know you better than anyone. And you know better than to stick your dick in a liege lord’s child!”

“On our grandmother’s life, I did not know.” Willas could not hide his grin, and Garlan’s accusatory eyebrow was raised so high, it hit the ceiling. “Though, I did suspect a noble heritage,” he admitted at last.

Garlan hit the wall. “Lord Stark will have your head.”

“Lord Stark will not find out,” Willas denied. “I will handle the issue.”

“How?”

“I will take care of it,” Willas assured once more. They reentered the bedroom where Jon was beginning to wake up. Both of them stopped dead in their tracks to watch the show. The boy woke like a kitten. He stretched his long, sinuous limbs and showcased his body in all sorts of tantalizing positions. Unaware of his bare status, Jon displayed his gorgeous, pink pucker to both men and the obvious sheen of cum slathered between his thighs.

Willas leaned into his brother’s ear. “If it would garner your sympathies, you should give his cunt a taste. You wouldn’t blame me then.”

Cripple or not, Willas deserved the punch in the ribs he received.

While Jon was rubbing his eyes awake, Willas dragged himself to his bed only to push the boy down and kiss him senselessly. The boy whined like a wounded animal. The struggle was short-lived, however. Garlan watched as the boy grew limp under the man’s tongue and gave himself up like an offering.

Lustfulness roused in Garlan as he watched the boy part his thighs for more. Willas was the smart one. Perhaps, he was right, Garlan thought. The boy deserved this. Here was a child given every luxury as a little lordling; he should behave like a proper noble instead was being bred like a kennel bitch. Garlan was not at fault for desiring him., If anything, this was _his right_ as a noble. _The boy was a bastard_ —.

“Stop it!” Garlan cursed. Willas and Jon finally acknowledged his presence.

Jon must not have seen him earlier, for he turned the prettiest shade of red in embarrassment and sought to save his modesty with sullied sheets. His behavior reinforced Garlan's guilt. The boy cowered in his dishonor! Such a sweet thing, and here Garlan was, imagining the ways he could violate him for his own pleasure. Garlan did not deserve his epithet after all. No gallant ser would ever consider his disgusting plans for the boy.   

“Don’t be shy,” Willas cooed. “It is only my dear brother. Come, Garlan, let me introduce you two.”

Garlan’s grimaced. He walked over to Jon’s side and _like a true knight,_ kissed Jon’s hand with great respect. Willas chuckled at his formality, which earned him a glare from his younger brother.

“This is my younger brother and the second son of Highgarden, Garlan. He is known as _Garlan the Gallant_ or Ser Garlan Tyrell. I call him my dear brother, but you may take your pick.”

“A knight?” Jon asked.

Garlan straightened up with pride.

“And my dear brother, this is Jon. Jon…Snow, I believe?”

Jon’s shyness was replaced with shame. “Yes, my lord.”

Willas chuckled. “I’ve told you to call me Willas when we are alone. Don’t worry, bastard or not; we are all friends here.” He cast a knowing glance at his brother. “Aren’t we, my dear brother?”

Garlan became rigid in his pose. While righteous and good, he was a family man at heart. He reluctantly turned to Jon. “You may call me Garth or Garlan, as well.” He smiled to soothe the boy’s woes. “A man’s birthright is not the final indicator of his worth.”

Jon’s lips soften, and his smile carried every bit of loveliness Garlan found in a rose.

Willas smirked. He was never one to forgo insurance. He knew Garlan’s honor could be his downfall and like any businessman, he sought to minimize his risk.

Willas kissed Jon’s neck and lingered his lips against the boy’s ear. “My brother is a handsome man, isn’t he?” He asked. “You should see his muscles underneath that shirt. Far more fit than a cripple like myself.”  

Jon blushed while Garlan glared. The younger Tyrell wondered where his older brother was going with such mischief.

“I think you’re both charming,” Jon denied.

“Oh, don’t be so bashful,” Willas pushed. “My brother is the pinnacle of masculinity.” Willas’ hand traveled so that he was cradling the boy’s cock. The boy never received any relief from this morning’s play. Jon whimpered and struggled to get away, but the older man kept him trapped.

“It’s bad manners to refuse a lord,” Willas muttered.

“It’s not…” Jon was on the verge of tears. “…decent.”

Garlan’s clenched his hands. “Willas, stop this.”

Willas looked up at his brother. He smiled and without hesitating, answered: “No.”

Willas’ eyes were cold and cut like glass. He lifted Jon up to showcase his pretty cock and balls to his older brother. “My brother would kill me for telling you this,” Willas whispered, like he was indulging in some scandalous secret. “But he couldn’t keep his eyes off you when you were waking up. All sinuous and divine. If you were a lady, he’d give you a wreath for sure.” Willas looked up at Garlan. “Isn’t that true, dear brother? Would you give _pretty little Jon_ some _pretty little roses_? Would you fuck him while he wore your crown of beauty?”

Jon whimpered. His release was building up in his stomach, and he begged, as cute as a kitten, for Willas to hurry. “Please, Willas, it hurts. I want to…I want to…”

“What was that, Jon? What does my precious boy want?” Willas continued to caress the boy while laying long, wet kisses on his naked skin.

Jon sobbed. “I want to come!”

Willas laughed at his plaything’s discomfort. He used his hands to direct Jon’s attention to the other Tyrell, who was facing a similar problem in his nether regions. “Don’t ask me. You’re so cute, I could watch you forever.” The thought brought a keeling cry from the bastard. Willas was almost hard again. “Why don’t you ask my brother for help? I might listen if he vouches for you. Come now. Use that gorgeous, plush little mouth of yours and _beg him_. He’s so nice. And he thinks you’re _very pretty_.”

Jon blushed, and the pinkness on his snowy cheeks glowed as bright as rosebuds. When he looked up at Garlan with his gray eyes, all coy and wide, it made Garlan’s breath hitch.

“Please, Lord Garlan. Can I come?” Jon whimpered.

Willas used Jon’s shoulder to stifle his laughter.  Garlan was hard as a rock. Willas mouthed the words ‘come here’ to invite Garlan onto his bed. Garlan obeyed; it was almost impossible for him not to listen to his big brother. He got on the sheets and moved in front of Jon. The boy breathed out a symphony of gasps and moans that enthralled Garlan further down the abyss. He was _forced_ to kiss the boy. The boy’s mouth was welcoming as a hearth.

Willas watched the scene with approval; he played with Jon’s little boy clit—a sweetling of a cock that he would one day savor—and pinched his fingers between the glans. The boy came with his lips being ravaged by Willas’ younger brother. Despite his chivalry, Garlan was greedy with his lovers. He took and took from Jon’s mouth until the boy struggled to breathe.

Before his darling passed out, Willas grabbed him by the curls and pulled him away. Jon yelped from the manhandling. “Willas!”  

Willas silenced him with another kiss, far more gentle than Garlan’s rapture. The distinction did not go unnoticed by Jon, who preferred the tenderness and leaned into the kiss. Garlan watched them with a mix of shame and anger. Willas fooled him again, he realized. There were many ways to be a hero.

When they parted, Willas stroked the boy like a pet. After his morning treatment, Jon was desperate for comfort. Garlan gritted his teeth.

“We need to get ready for breakfast,” Garlan warned. “And you will need quite the story.”

Willas hummed and kissed Jon’s hair. He drew circles with the cum on Jon’s chest. When he realized his brother was still glaring, innocence scurried onto the heir’s face. “Garlan, do not be dramatic. You will frighten the darling.” Willas came up with the best plans. “Once Lord Stark hears his son’s apologies, all will be forgiven. How could anyone stay angry at this precious nymphet?”

“What?” Jon jumped out of his skin from the news. Horror covered his face. “Father is still angry?”

Oh course, Garlan thought angrily. Willas, the heir of Highgarden, the king of deviances and deviations, the trickster who conned septons and sailors to achieve his goals, had a plan. 

The Highgarden heir sighed. “A small concern, I assure you,” Willas answered. “It seems your disappearance has forced his party to stay behind. They’ve been looking for you all night. But do not worry,” Willas promised as he stroked a curl away from Jon’s whitening face. “The inconvenience has only made him cross. He is not foaming at the mouth in rage,” Willas poorly joked. The humor was lost on Jon, who trembled in his self-loathing. “Darling, do not cry.”

“He will never forgive me,” Jon cried. “And Lady Stark will hate me more than she already does.”  

“All you have done is delay a day’s worth of travel. You must not sully your pretty face with tears.” Willas licked his lips at the thought of Jon’s sobbing.

Garlan watched the entire scene with disgust. “Willas, I am sure Lord Stark will be more grateful than angry that his son is safe.”

Jon shook his head. “Father will find me selfish and defiant. He will never look at me the same.”

Willas wiped away his tears. “I will honor our promise and tell him that I was at fault,” Willas offered. “Last night, my leg was pulsing with pain and I needed assistance getting to my room. But I did not care to be alone in agony. I demanded you stay. You, a sweet, pious boy, would never dare refuse a high lord. You stayed with me the entire night, eating chocolates and…enjoying each other’s company.” Willas chuckled at Jon’s blush. “Whenever you asked to return to your father, I found an excuse for you to stay. I could not let you leave. And within hours, you were asleep.”

Jon was tempted but his honorable upbringing refused to let another man take the blame. “I cannot ask you to lie for me.”

“You deserve such a gift,” Willas denied. “Especially after the night, you’ve given a cripple. I have not had such joy in years. You were so _enthusiastic_ , too.”

Jon turned red. He must have remembered his lewdness and squirmed. He gasped as the sloshing cum leaked out of him. “Lord Willas…”

“Worry not,” Willas told him. “I will not reveal your transgressions to your father.” He moved his hand to play with Jon’s asshole “I want you two to reconcile, and that would be _impossible_ if he learned the truth.”  

Before the bastard could question him, Willas distracted Jon with another kiss. He then stroked his cheek in an act of comfort. “I will go to see Lord Stark now. Allow me to soften his heart. Until then, you must not be seen.”

Jon was still doubtful but relented to Willas’ demands.

Kissing him one last time, Willas promised to bring him some food when he was finished. “I have some biscuits and cheeses on my shelves. Use them to sustain yourself until I get back.”

Jon nodded obediently.

He was too good for this world, Willas thought with glee.

***

“Have you no shame?” Garlan accused once they left the room.

Willas ignored him, as he often did when the younger man attempted to claim the moral high ground in their debates. He locked the door as one would a birdcage.

“I have not done anything that was not expected of me.”

“And how was torturing that poor boy your obligation?” Garlan asked.

Willas rolled his eyes at his brother’s insistency. The two of them haltered their argument when a serving girl walked towards them with sheets. Willas informed her of the barred entrance to his room and asked her to inform the other maids. Once she was out of earshot, they continued their discussion.

“Jon is a bastard and a pretty one at that. When I found him, he had nothing but a silk gown that slipped off his figure and a mouth peaking with promise. He was defenseless, Garth. If I hadn’t found him when I did, he’d be in some brothel, choking on a merchant’s cock with a dozen soldiers waiting for their turn.”

Garlan sputtered out his disbelief. “Do you hear yourself?”

“Clear as a whistle.” Willas passed by a mirror—the castle walls were covered in them. Willas straightened up his jacket to prepare for this morning’s battle. “Jon will thrive under my care. His father has his hands full with his trueborn brood, and there’s barely any attention given to him. You’ve seen the boy, Garth. He craves affection. It won’t be long before his father finds him riding some beggar’s cock for a compliment, or using his throat to pay thanks.”

“Yes, I see that now—after he’s gotten the inane notion that he may gain approval through his cunt,” Garlan accused.

“He was bound to figure it out eventually. By being his first, I have prevented him from becoming some poor pervert’s cockwarmer.”

“Yes, he will be a rich pervert’s cockwarmer instead.”

Willas scolded him for his tactlessness. 

Garlan sighed. “How do you intend to persuade his father of your goodness? You know Northerners—they don’t trust us.”

“I have a plan,” Willas informed him. Such terrifying words, for Willas’ plans, were brutal in their swiftness. “And if you play along, I’ll promise you a taste. I imagine Jon would look gorgeous split on two cocks.”

 “He is not yours to give,” the knight muttered, though, from the tension in his chest and rigidity of his loins, Willas could tell he thought the same.

 “Not yet," Willas replied.  

***

The Starks had not arrived for their morning meal, still scouring the streets for their lost boy. Only Lady Stark was there; her two daughters ate earlier, separated from the adults, and no lady was expected to dine without the presence of her family. It would be uncouth. Willas greeted warmly.

“Lady Stark, I apologize for the late meeting. I am Willas Tyrell—no additional title, unfortunately.” The mentioned of his lack of knighthood always garnered the right amount of sympathies. “Do you mind if I sit down? I understand it is rude to be seated before a lady, but my leg has been a terror since last night.”

Lady Stark did not deny him. “No apologies are necessary, Lord Willas. I understand your… _responsibilities_ could be draining.”

Garlan scoffed.

Willas smiled kindly. “You are too kind, Lady Stark.” He sent a glance to his grandmother, who was minding the conversation carefully. Willas took his place next to his father—the man was currently lending his _expertise_ to Stark’s search party. They would all be having a late breakfast, it seemed. Loras was seated across from him. Garlan, after some reluctance, moved to sit down next to his other sibling. Willas refused to let him go—even their father would notice something was wrong if Garlan sat with Loras. Willas grabbed Garlan’s arm before he could move across the room. “I will need your help getting up, dear brother.” Willas reminded.

Garlan gritted his teeth and sat down.

Willas relax in his chair. He could see that his youngest brother was fiddling with his cutlery, obviously upset by their mealtime delay. Loras had morning practice with the rest of the knights and was starving. Tyrells were violently peckish on matters of the stomach. Willas had the foresight to keep snacks around his room. The eldest son checked the sundial and estimated it wouldn’t be long before the other half of their guests arrived.

The corner of Willas’ mouth twitched like a knight’s fingers. He motioned for a maid to come closer. “Tell me, did father keep any leftovers from last night? I wasn’t able to attend the masquerade but I was hoping for a taste. I would love to have a sample of the delicacies. Honeycakes with lavender, vanilla glazed blackberries, eclairs stuffed with cream and nuts…”

Loras threw his fork on the table like some petulant child. “When will they be back?”

All eyes turned to the third son. Willas tried not to smile. He loved his youngest brother, but as their family’s pride, Loras was given more leniency than any other child—even Margaery; a privilege awarded to him for being the beauty in a bed of roses.

“Soon, my flower,” Their honorable mother soothed. “But we must be mindful of our guests. They are missing more than the food in their stomachs.” She turned to smile at Lady Stark. Lady Alerie was never one to crack the whip, but she would not tolerate a tantrum in front of guests. Her dedication to propriety and reputation was one they all learned from her—for better or for worst—and it was the sole attribute that gained her mother in law’s approval.

Willas _almost_ felt bad for what he was going to do to her.

“They are given quite the task,” Willas reminded him. The maids prepared their tea and poured. Willas fought down his grin. The party must have been close. “Highgarden is such a large city; there could be a thousand places he could be.”

Loras took the bait. To his credit, he was rather clever in regards to his horses and games, but couldn't spare an ant's wit towards politics. “The boy is a bastard. Have them check the brothels and be done with it! He’s probably at the Butterwall brothel as we speak, kissing a cock for a carrot.”

The commentary earned a look of aghast from several members of the room. Lady Stark remained coolly silent. Loras must have assumed she, like any other southern lady, did not care for the bastard’s wellbeing. While many saw the coldness of a wronged woman, Willas could see the guilt in form. She was not happy about the boy’s disappearance, as many expected her to be.

Ah, Willas remembered with delight. _She_ was the one who banned him from attending the party. _She_ must have thought she was responsible for his abduction.

And so would Lord Stark, Willas thought.

He could use her.

“Do keep talking, Loras,” Olenna urged. “You know how it thrills me to watch lambs walk to the slaughter.”

Loras never appreciated sarcasm. “My point is—they are wasting their time. I saw the boy before he ran off.” Willas imagined Loras drank his fill of his pretty body, maybe even considered chasing him for his own rounds. “He won’t last long out there.”

Willas decided to egg the argument on. “Regardless of his wording, Loras is not wrong,” Willas reminded them. “There’s a market for bastards of nobility. Some brothels not only boast about their selection but specialize in the aspect.”

"Willas, do not be crude," Their mother chided. "This is not a proper conversation for a meal. You know better." He noticed she did not say the same of his brother. 

"I do," Willas agreed. "I also know that pragmatism should be prized over propriety. We need to acknowledge that Loras may have a point. And we cannot say we've scoured every corner until we acknowledged the sharper edges." 

“Exactly,” Loras agreed—happy that for once, the _smart_ brother was taking his side. “You could get a Florent for a copper groat and a Frey is barely a halfpenny. Imagine how much a Stark is worth?”

“Castration,” was their answer.

All eyes turned to the doorway, where three creatures entered: an embarrassed rose, a solemn wolf, and a fuming pup. Garlan choked down his shame. Loras tried his best to maintain his composure but failed under the hailstorm of Lord Stark’s glower.  

“Wonderful, now he can give you the beating you deserve,” their grandmother chimed. She refused a second cup of tea and demanded wine for the show.

All the Tyrells stood up to greet their heads of houses. Even Willas struggled to meet expectations. The men sat down in their respective seats. Robb, despite his age, chooses to sit on Willas and Garlan’s side of the table. He was too upset to be sat next to Loras.

The room was silent while the maids scurried off to retrieve their meal. The room dropped in temperature. They were into their first few bites when Willas made an effort to rectify the tension—or perhaps add to the distress.

“Have you made any progress in your search?” Willas asked.

Lord Stark did not stop eating to answer. “No.”

There was no change in Lord Stark’s expression. He continued to eat in harsh, hurried mouthfuls.

Willas was the master of exuding collection and compassionate at once.

“I understand you overheard our discussion.”

Lord Stark paused for a second before continuing his meal. He gulped down his tea but refused the wine. “I did.”

“I want you to know that my brother meant no insult to you or your son,” Willas explained. “These are merely facts that need to be taken into consideration. Men, to our shame, are beasts by nature. We—”

Lord Stark slammed down his cup. “—You,” he glared. “Do not need to tell me how men think.” He clenched his fist around his fork. “I know what they think when they look at my son. I will not leave any stone unturned.”

Willas stared, and opting to forgo words, he nodded. He pretended to remain meek under the pressure of a hardened man. “Hopefully we find him soon,” Willas added. Unable to rest the upset in his stomach for being corrected— _him_ , a lauded scholar and the boat that kept the _fucking Reach_ afloat—spoke kindly. “At the very least, we can be confident he has not left Highgarden.” Willas ate to make sure every pause was meaningful. “To be honest, I was worried that the poor creature ran away. I see it often—boys and girls who cannot handle the shame of being a bastard. Sons who flee in search of acceptance.” Willas chomped on his strawberry. “Clearly, a father like yourself would _never_ allow his son to feel unloved. I admire you and your wife for putting aside your prejudices.” Willas smiled. “Children should be cherished.”

A loud clank was heard from the other side of the table. All eyes turn to Lady Stark, who had spilled her wine on the table. A maid rushed to serve her, but she was distraught. “I’m afraid I have lost my appetite,” Lady Stark announced shakily. “Please excuse me.”

They watch as she almost ran out of the room.

Willas took a bite of his bacon. “I am sure my father has already offered, but do not hesitate to order our men as you see fit.” He was sure the notion slipped his father’s mind. “And stay as long as it is necessary.” Lord Tyrell jumped at his mention.

“Ah, yes! I was just about to say something on the matter.” Lord Tyrell laughed goodheartedly. “The Tyrell men are at your service!”

“Thank you,” Lord Stark replied.

Willas’ eyes twinkled. He got up from his seat. “I will take the rest of my breakfast in my room.” He turned to Lord Stark. "Despite the circumstances, I am glad we can extend our assistance. I feel this is the first step to a lifelong friendship, Lord Stark. Since I am no good on foot, I will send some attendants to handle the matter we spoke about discreetly.” Willas made sure to furrow his brow in sadness. “If our fears are confirmed, I would not wish such a sight on a father.”

Lord Stark remained stoic, but his gratitude was evident.   

Willas dragged his leg to the door. Before he left, the maid from this morning stopped by with a covered box. “There was an unopened of macarons from last night’s shipment, m’lord.”

Willas took the box with his free hand. “Thank you.” Jon would adore these. He walked out of the room, but just as the door closed on him, he remembered another request. “My room is looking drab. Would you mind fetching a bouquet of flowers from the garden?”

The maid nodded. “Any preferences, m’lord?”

“Something bright and pretty but no roses. And pink, if they are in season.”

***

Willas waited for the maids to arrive before he entered his room. There was a healthy amount of fruits and cheeses, and just enough meat to make it a meal. He did not request liquids —he carried water and wine in his room already. The other maid had gotten him peonies. He took his requests from their hands, and though they protested, neither of them could sway the Highgarden heir. He thanked them with a smile, and they walked off with blushes on their cheeks. Despite the additional handicap of his second arm, he managed to get inside after relative struggle.

When the girls returned to their serving quarters, the rooms would be fluttered with gossip. Everyone knew why Willas was so secretive—he had a _lover_. Such a lucky girl, they would say. Or boy, said another. Loras may have been Highgarden’s knight in shining armor, but Willas was their prince.

***

Willas locked the doors as soon as he came. When he turned around, Jon was waiting for him. He had foregone the dress for one of Willas’ much larger shirts. The garment fell to his knees but split opened around his bottom. Willas licked his lips when Jon drew near. The Snow child helped him with the plate of food to prevent spillage. He was taken back when a bouquet of flowers followed.

“What are these?”

“Peonies,” Willas explained. “Highgarden is known for its roses, but I couldn’t bear such mediocrity on your gift. You deserve something far more distinctive.” He wished the girl had brought him something from their exotic houses, maybe the orchids or blossoms, but he remained smiling. Next time, he thought.

Jon placed the plate of food on the table and took them from his hand. His expression softened with their presence. “Thank you,” Jon whispered. “They’re very pretty, Lord Willas.” Then he frowned. “Why have you brought them to me?”

Willas would put every thespian out of work if he ever joined the theatre. The eldest Tyrell sighed with such heaviness, the room shook. He gestured Jon to the bed. “Let’s get you something to eat. I want to talk about something, and the news is better served on a full stomach. I have water on my desk.”

Jon was hesitant at first. Finally, he pittered over to the sheets and rested the plate on the bed. Then, he grabbed the flask and cup. When they were finally seated together, Willas picked up a macaron from the box and brought it to Jon’s lips. “Eat,” he commanded.

Jon chewed, but there was an expectant tension in his jaw. He would not enjoy this meal. When he swallowed, he finally dared to ask what was wrong. When Willas did not answer, Jon reluctantly pushed for the truth.

“Is it about my father?”

Willas pretended to be surprised by the insight. He gave Jon a forlorn expression. “Jon—”

“He is still angry.” There was no question.

Willas shook his head. “I did not have time to explain. He was worn out from his search and in a mood—” Distraught, from the loss of his son. Fear, for his fate. All things Jon would be so grateful to hear. “Once he hears about your altruism, he will forgive you. For now, you must save your strength. Eat.”

Willas picked up a piece of ham. Jon turned his head away.

“I am not hungry.”

In any other situation, Willas would find his petulance worthy of punishment. One where the lord would find it appropriate stuff with boy’s throat with cock and cum. At the moment, he found the childish behavior endearing—and definitely useful.

“Jon, I will find a way to spare you his wrath. Now, eat. I will not tolerate disobedience,” Willas warned. His cock was hardening.

Disobey me, Willas prayed. Give me a reason to _ruin_ you.

Jon knocked his cup off the bed. “I said I am not hungry!”

The gods were _good_.

 Willas grabbed the boy’s hips which knocked him on his back. Willas was lame in the leg, but years of relying on his hands had strengthened his arms.

“Lord Willas, stop!”

“So I am your lord now?” Willas mocked. “You were not so pious before.” He spread Jon’s cheeks apart and admired the healing hole. It was still recovering from its morning pounding, but Willas could care less for its comfort.

“Lord Willas, I’m sorry!” Jon sobbed.

Lord Willas dismissed his apology. “You made it clear you weren’t hungry. I am making it clear that _I am_.”

The Tyrells were never shy about their appetites. They loved indulgences of all kinds, from the succulent meats their farmers bred to the dripping pussy of a young maid. They were never satisfied with a single meal. Willas rested his mouth right above Jon’s quivering hole. It was pink and raw and hot as a furnace. Jon must have emptied himself while Willas was out. The heir made a note to fill him up to the brim for his insolence. He was going to cum until the boy was swollen and pregnant.  

Willas’ thoughts were interrupted by the continuous struggle underneath him. Willas could feel his indignation rising. Jon was _fighting_ him. The heir would make sure to fuck that disobedience out of him. To keep him from acting up further, the Tyrell pushed the boy's knees all the way to his shoulders.

“Oh!” Jon gasped.

The boy was surprisingly flexible, Willas thought. For a second, he wondered if the superstitions were true. Were bastards made for fucking? He did not have time to dwell on the matter before Jon tried to squirm his way out of the trap.

“You're too rebellious,” Willas muttered. He spread the cheeks out further and licked between the crease. Jon gasped as Willas’ tongue, warm and wet, fucked his hole repeatedly. Jon jerked and squeaked, but he silenced his earlier protests, shuddering as the muscle traced around his rim before devouring him.

Despite Jon’s deflowering, he still tasted as fresh as a virgin. Willas could eat him out for hours. Willas moaned at the thought, and the sound rippled throughout Jon’s body. The boy groaned and tightened his grip on the sheet. He began to beg. 

“Willas, please. I-I need to—ah, _ah_!” Willas hoped there was no one wandering through the halls. He was sure they would be scandalized, or worse, _intrigued_. “Willas, I’m s-sorry! I'm sorry!”

Willas’ cock wanted to join them at that moment. He couldn’t blame his body for reacting—Jon was _asking_ for permission to come. He felt Jon’s limbs go limp, but Willas could not resist lapping up the raw rim. Jon was just too good not to savor. Willas only stopped to give his blessing.

“Just this once,” Willas warned. “I’ll let you off.” Literally and figuratively. Jon might as well cherish this moment. He won’t be coming before Willas again in the future. Within seconds, Jon spurted his release all over Willas’ hair. Despite the stain, the man’s chest swelled up in pride. From his feathery limbs, Willas could see that the boy was unconscious.

Gods were good, Willas thought, _and so was he_.  

***

Officially, Willas found Jon in the godswoods, gagged and bound underneath two bundles of peony bushes. He took two of his guards there to investigated after he remembered a strange occurrence last night. Ned listened with apt attention as Willas remembered wanting to get away from the masquerade and sought solace in the only place he knew would be empty. There, he heard a noise. He dragged himself to the scene where two men—whom he assumed to drunk at the time—spotted him. The men dashed off before Willas could get a good look at their faces.

“They must have hidden him there before I went to look. I heard some whimpers, but I assumed it was an animal of some kind.” Willas bowed his head in faux shame. “If I had gone to check, none of this would have occurred.”

Ned shook his head. “You have done enough.” He turned to his son, whose wounds were nursed by the Tyrell’s maester. “If it weren’t for you, I doubt I would ever see my son again.” Jon insisted that the men did not get far in their advances. Willas’ presence stopped them, he said. From a laymen’s view, Jon’s body was littered with bruises and bug bites. The maids chose that moment to bring soup and greens.   

Robb followed behind the tray. “Jon!” He shouted. He ran towards his little brother and embraced him. “I am so glad you are safe!”

Ned left Willas’ side to join his sons. The room darkened when the Lord of Winterfell reached out to comfort his son, only to be greeted with a flinch.

“Father,” Jon addressed. He originally avoided the man’s gaze before shyly looking up. His father did not raise a coward. “Please forgive me for the trouble I’ve caused.”

Ned was taken back by the apology. “Jon—”

“I didn’t mean to delay our travels!” Jon admitted. “And if Lady Stark will allow it, I will apologize to her at once. Next time, I won’t disobey her orders. And I won’t ever join you on these events. I’ll remember my place.”

Your place is by my side, Willas inwardly mocked. It was the right thing to say, but Starks was never one for words.

“Jon, you’ve done nothing wrong,” Ned told him. He wanted to be gentle, but his awkwardness made him impossible to read. Finally, he told Jon: “This was not your fault.”

Jon turned to Willas. He was grateful for the words, but he thought they were all based on lies the Tyrell had spun together. In his gaze was disgust for his deception and the seeking of security; it was an instinct for a pup to seek protection. Ned could see the latter in his son. He followed his son’s gaze to the Tyrell heir, and much to his surprise, Willas walked over and petted him.

“It is alright, Jon,” Willas soothed. “Your father is not angry at you. I told you, he only wants to make sure you are safe.” To Ned’s dismay, Jon leaned into the touch. Willas knew why; Jon never believed he had the right to be so affectionate with his father and Ned never bothered to initiate such loving gestures.  

Once Jon was sufficiently convinced, Willas dragged his feet to the door. Robb was given the task of replenishment and helped feed his brother his meal. Lord Stark and Willas left the quarters to discuss more prudent matters.

“He is quite taken with you,” Ned noted, almost accusatory. Willas tried not to smirk. Lord Stark did not suspect a thing—but he was jealous.

“He sees me as his savior,” Willas corrected. “When I found him, he would not let go of my hand. He is as docile as a rabbit. You are a lucky man, Lord Stark.”

“Yes,” Lord Stark agreed. “I am fortunate you were there that night. And this morning.” The Lord of Winterfell turned to Willas. “I’ve never seen him so affectionate. He’s always been so reserved. He barely speaks a word when we are together. Within moments of meeting you, he clings. He acts like a child.”

“Boys want to be seen as strong in front of their fathers.”

“He does not trust me.”  

“He knows you love him,” Willas assured. Even he wasn’t so cruel as to lie about that. “Forgive me for overstepping, but perhaps Jon believes there are… _consequences_ for showing affection.”

Lord Stark gave him a questioning look.  

“At the dining room, I noticed that Lady Stark was rather...ambivalent about his disappearance. It is a lot to ask of her to be a mother, but has she ever,” Willas paused for good measure. “Been _violent_ towards Jon?”

“Never!” Lord Stark vehemently denied. “Catelyn would not do such a thing.”

Willas nodded. “That is a relief.” He smiled in a manner he hoped was wistful. “Though had you said yes, I would have been more confident in my offer.”

Lord Stark became still as the ice he ruled. “What offer?”

“I want to foster him.”

Lord Stark could not hide his surprise. Then, after a moment of silence, he spoke. “Why?” He asked, and suspicion on top of irritation rose to the surface. Willas was not only testing his boundaries; he was invading Ned’s lands.

“There is goodness in him; he is bright and kind and loyal,” Willas acknowledge. “I could train him to be my personal attendant and guard. If he is your son, he will undoubtedly be skilled with the sword. I would pay him handsomely for it, and if he serves me well, I will have no qualms giving him a keep.” Willas smiled at the door and stared as if he were peering through the wood to Jon.

“Jon is a northerner. He will not fare well in the Reach,” Ned denied fruitlessly.

Willas countered the contention with ease. “As a bastard, his options are limited. He will either join the Wall or become a mercenary in the east. He can’t even become a knight—he doesn’t pray to the Seven.”  

“There is no shame in taking the black.”

“There’s no shame in being a mason, either, but neither of us are in any position to release our seats.” Willas smiled despite Lord Stark’s glower. “You are a good father,” Willas acknowledged. “You know Jon deserves more than his birthright. And a pretty boy like that on the Wall—well, I wouldn’t dream of it.” Willas placed on hand on his shoulder. “At least think about my offer.”

Willas and Lord Stark joined the boys in the room. Jon was finished with his meal and his complexion brightened with the nourishment. Willas smiled warmly at him. “I see you’ve regained some color in your cheeks.” He walked over to his open box of macarons. “Would you like some? I have a strawberry flavored piece you might enjoy.”

Jon did not hesitate. “Please, Lord Willas.”

Lord Stark watched in amazement as his son opened up his mouth to be fed.

“Do you like them?” Jon nodded with the cookie stuffed in his mouth. Willas wiped the crumbs away. He gave him another, a flavored tea treat. “Given the circumstances, I believe it would be best for you to stay here while I employ a guest room.”

Jon was horrified by the notion. “I cannot do such a thing! You are a lord, Lord Willas!”

“And I command you to stay,” Willas corrected. He ruffled the boy’s hair. “After last night, you deserve a warm place to sleep and I have on good authority that these are the finest sheets money can buy.”

Jon remained unconvinced. Before he could come up with an effective response, Willas got off the bed. Jon reacted at once. He grabbed Willas’ wrist and begged him to stay.

“C…” Out came the reddening of his cheeks. “Could we not stay together?” Jon stared at his cheeks, and he bit his lower lip. “I don’t want to be alone.”

Willas looked over at Lord Stark and saw his sorrow swallow him whole. Willas knew he won the battle before they even drew their swords.

***

Though it pained him to take a risk at this pivotal time, Willas allowed the Starks to be alone with their Snow. He feared a lie would stand and a reconciliation on the horizon, but relented when he rationalized that years have not mended their bonds, and neither would a final minute. He took the opportunity to strengthen his plea. Willas found himself face to face with Lady Stark—who was loitering around the halls, waiting for consensus on Jon’s health.

“Lady Stark,” Willas greeted.

“Lord Willas.” There was a pause in Lady Stark’s next question. “Jon Snow…is he…is he alright?”

Willas nodded. “You will be happy to know that my maester cleared Jon for travel, but he recommended a night’s rest to be safe. I apologize for delaying your return to Winterfell once more.”

Lady Stark shook her head. “It is not your fault he was taken from his father.” She glanced over at the door. “These things happen. Jon has always been… _appealing_ to a certain sort.”

“He is beautiful,” Willas agreed. “His presence on my bed is not unwelcomed.”  

The admission startled Catelyn, but Willas did not attempt to rectify his statement. A more ambitious man would have played his hand more carefully, but Willas was a man of knowledge. He sought the dark crevices of the soul. He wanted to see just how far Lady Stark would go to rid of her husband’s bastard.

“I am glad I ran into you.”

Lady Stark looked up into his piercing green eyes—sharp as a snake.

“I’ve become quite fond of Jon,” Willas confessed. “He speaks in the sweetest manner, like clotted cream and honey. It’s like he invites me for a taste whenever he opens his mouth.” Willas chuckled at Lady Stark’s growing unease. “I’ve spoken to your husband about fostering Jon but he is reluctant to part with him.” 

Lady Stark remained stoic. “Jon is my husband’s son. His word is law,” she rebuked. Lady Stark left to remove her discomfort, but Willas blocked her.

“Perhaps the soft voice of a loving wife could help him see the reason.” Willas touched her hand. “Jon has no place in Winterfell, and it is wrong for him to live as a relic of your dishonor.”

“Lord Willas, I insist you let go—”

“Jon needs a gentle touch,” Willas said as he stroked her knuckles. “That his father cannot give him.” He stared straight into his eyes. “And neither can you.”

“ _How dare you?_ ”

“Jon deserves to be taken care of,” Willas cut her off. “You cannot be his mother, nor can you overcome your humiliation to show him some decency. If you do nothing for the boy in his life, then do this for him. Give him to me.”

Lady Stark snatched her hand away. She marched off, knowing Willas could not keep up with her stride. That was fine—he made no plans to. He knew as soon as his back was turn, Lady Stark would pause in front of the door and give his back a long, lingering glance. She would contemplate his words with the severity of a septon and then, against the will of the Mother, give into the temptation. Lord Willas was out of view, but not out of sight when the altercation happened. He waited behind a column as the argument was on the rise. Before long, Lady and Lord Stark stormed out of his room to have their hushed whispers. Lord Stark was aghast by her coldness—to suggest abandoning his son so soon after he found him? Lady Stark retaliated with just as much heat—how could he call himself a father if he could not protect him from two drunkards? If he did not provide him with the ample opportunity to thrive? Lord Willas walked away before he could hear anymore. His seeds have been planted and sowed, watered and fertilized, and now time and good weather would do the rest.

***

Before night fell, Willas visited his room. He wished to come sooner, but Jon’s older brother refused to leave his side. He would be a tedious obstacle in the future, Willas noted. His thoughts disappeared when he came into view of Jon’s cherubic face. The boy brightened up when he saw him. He was still wearing Willas’ dress shirt—Willas had lied and said he dressed Jon before he came. When Willas moved closer to the bed, Jon removed the sheet to reveal a nicely eaten bottom. He crawled onto Willas’ lap and purred when his face was touched. Willas pulled him into a kiss.  

“You’re a vision,” Willas breathed out when they parted.

Jon giggled. “Thank you for telling my father that story.” Jon kissed him again and grounded his hips against his lap. Willas moaned. Garlan was right—Jon was learning how to thank men in a _very special_ way thanks to him. “You were right! He wasn’t angry at all!”

“I told you he would not be,” Willas reminded. “You should listen to me next time. Without any questions.”

Jon nodded apologetically. Willas grabbed the boy’s hips and pushed them down to rub his cock on. Those fleshy cushions were a godsend to get off on. “I have more news for you.” Jon’s hole was still open from earlier. His battered cunt took Willas’ fingers with stride and tried to swallow him back in when he left. The tease left Jon panting.

“What?” Jon moaned out.

“I’ve spoken to your father. He’s asked me to foster you.”

Jon’s face fell. Even Willas’ heart chipped from the devastated expression. “What? Why?”

Willas took his fingers out to stroke his cheek. “I’m sure it is purely political. He saw how _fond_ I was of you,” Willas kissed Jon’s neck for good measure, “and must have seen an opportunity for an alliance.”

Jon rested his small hands on Willas’ chest. He took a deep breath. “My father doesn’t play politics.” His fingers curled up, desperate to grab onto anything for stability. “He’s getting rid of me.”

Willas grabbed his hands and kissed them. “Your father loves you very much.”

“Then why is he getting rid of me?” Jon asked. He tried to get away, but Willas held him firmly. “He’s finally had enough of his bastard.”

“That’s not true,” Willas denied. “Your father and I spoke about it at length, and we concluded that this was the best decision _for you_. It has nothing to do with him not wanting you, but your safety.”

“Winterfell is my home. How is Highgarden safer than my home?”

“Because your father has no time to protect you!” Willas _snapped_ with the right amount of bite and concern. “Don’t you see how _tempting_ you are? How you _invite_ —” Willas looked away at once. “Forgive me. I shouldn’t have said anything.”

Jon stared at him. “What are you talking about?”

“Jon, forget what I said. Your father would rid me of a second leg if he found out I told you.”

“Tell me what? Lord Willas.” Jon captured Willas’ face in his hands. “Answer me.”

Willas sighed deeply. “Do you know why your father believed me so easily? How he did not question a word when I told him that two men were attempting to take you from the party?”

Jon flushed. “Boys get taken all the time…they must have thought I was a noble or someone of worth or…”

“No,” Willas shook his head. “Your father believed me because he sees in you what I see. You’re so pretty, Jon.” The compliment hit Jon like a slap. “But you… _you act like a whore_. And I know it is unintentional, your father knows you don’t mean to—but last night was proof that he can’t stop you from getting used like some rag.”

“I-I don’t understand. How?” Jon whimpered.

Willas shook his head. “It’s hard to explain. But you encourage them. Sometimes it is with your eyes and the way you coyly flutter your lashes around their guards. Whenever you bend over, I wonder how you haven’t gotten used by every stable boy in Winterfell.” Willas groaned and muffled his exasperation in Jon’s chest. The feeling of his perky nipples was mouthwatering—he had to stop himself from getting too aroused.  

“I can stop!” Jon promised. “I’ll tell my father I won’t do it anymore.”

“But you don’t even know you’re doing it. It’s instinctive with you. Like you’re permanently in heat, wagging your ass around to get bred.” Willas bit his nipple and the boy shivered. “See? All I did was touch you a little and you’re ready to open up for me. You wanted to get fucked so badly, you even seduced me in your sleep.”

“I did?” Jon was horrified.  

“I’ve bred bitches in heat with more modesty,” Willas told him. “This morning, I woke up to your cunt leaking all over my cock. It was unnerving. Most whores need to be awake to get so wet, but you were dripping like well. I tried to wake you up but you _needed_ to be fucked right away. Even now, you’re begging for another round.” Willas shoved three extra fingers inside Jon. The boy made a strong keeling sound. “I cannot imagine how hard it will be when you return home.”

“What?” Jon squirmed on his fingers. “What are you talking about?” 

Willas pretended to be surprise. “Don’t you see? Once you’ve had a taste, you cannot stop being a whore, Jon. Your body is far too lustful. You give off these… _messages_. Like your lips—I swear on the Highgarden fortune that you will not spend a day without a cock pulsing down your throat. Then, there’s that _ass_ of yours! Have you ever considered how hard it will be for your father’s men not to rape you when you’re alone?”

Jon’s face burned at the thought. “I…don’t mean to—”

“And think of your father! How would he feel knowing that his own blood was being passed around the castle like a tavern whore? He worries for the day he walks in on you with a cock in both holes, crying out for more. Then, there's your brother. He is becoming a man. Imagine how shameful it would be for him to be seduced by his bastard brother?" 

"I would never—"

"It's not your choice, Jon. Robb is your lord. If he commands you to spread your legs, you must submit him. You run the chance of soiling his honor with your hole. You owe it to him to leave.”

Jon suffocated his crying against his chest. Willas gently stroked his hair.

“Do not worry, Jon. I will make sure you are satisfied enough that you don’t go seeking arrangements with other men.” He lifted the boy’s face to kiss him. He smiled at the boy warmly. “But do not think for a second your father is doing this because he doesn’t love you.”

Jon nodded. The admission did offer some comfort.

***

The announcement was made at dinner time, with the details finalized before the pudding. Willas refused the offer to send for Jon’s things. “I will take care of all of his needs,” Willas offered. He smiled when Lady Stark cowered in her own self-loathing.

Garlan was disgusted; he finally built up the courage to act the morning of the Starks’ departure and marched into Willas’ room with faux bravado. Willas was balls deep into his new ward when he did so. In his victory, the Tyrell did not bother to lock the door.

Jon was panting on the sheets, skewered by Willas’ cock. Garlan received a gorgeous view of the boy’s backside as he bounced his bubbly butt onto Willas’ cock.

“This is wrong,” Garlan announced. “Willas, you cannot do this.”

Willas ignored him to continue thrusting. After a few more poundings, Willas emptied his balls until his cum was leaking from the sides. He lifted the boy off his cock, and both men watched with arousal as the cum leaked out of his hole. Willas chuckled.

“What is the problem?”

“ _This_ ,” Garlan hissed. “You cannot keep him here.”

Willas glanced at Jon, who was being lulled into a deep slumber by fatigue. Satisfied by his daze, Willas continued the conversation. Jon was such a heavy sleeper; it wouldn’t matter if they had a screaming match in a storm.

“I meant my promise to his father. I will take care of him. He will be trained to handle my papers and be my guard.”

“And your whore.”

Willas chuckled. “I’m not averse to sharing. You are my little brother. I will take care of you." 

“Willas—”

Willas stretched out his arm. He brought his leg onto the bed to massage it. Garlan was taken back. It was the first time Garlan had seen it in plain view in a while. It was as deformed as Garlan remembered it—misshapen and scarred as if the vines of a weirwood was suffocating it in anger.

“If you want,” Willas said as he rubbed its sides. “I will send a maid to stop the Stark’s departure. I will tell them that Jon had a change of heart. He wants to return to Winterfell. To be with his family. I will even throw in a few barrels of wheat and corn to indicate an alliance for the future winter.”

Then, Willas stood up. The leg dangled but Willas remained strong and firmed despite his handicap. “But that means never having taste of that boy on my bed. You could sneak your cock in now—while I send the message—but I assure you: one taste will never be enough.”

Garlan clenched his fist. He stared into his brother’s eyes and unable to handle the intensity, he looked away. But then his eyes fell upon the boy on the bed.

Garlan did not say a word as he striped his armor off to the ground and undid his pants. “One taste,” Garlan muttered. “Just this once.” One taste and he can still call himself a good man.  

Willas chuckled as he sat on a nearby chair to watch.

Half an hour later, when the maid knocked on his door to announce the Stark’s departure, Garlan was using Jon’s mouth. He wasn’t anywhere near finished.

**Author's Note:**

> I feel like the Tyrell siblings represent the four houses of Hogwarts. Margaery is ambitious and cunning, which makes her Slytherin. Loras hungers for glory and adventure which makes him a Gryffindor. Garlan exemplifies all houses in a way, he is courageous but doesn’t care for attention, insightful (as seen with his notice of Tyrion in the books), but is more of a support system than a leading character which makes him Hufflepuff. Willas is a Ravenclaw. He’s not as ambitious as Margaery (though, that may be a result of the fact he’s already guaranteed Highgarden and doesn’t feel the need to go further) he is considered wise and shrewd with a mind for strategy. 
> 
> Originally, I had Willas giving a box of macarons as a gift to Ned in the end—which led Ned to realize that he’s been played (because at breakfast, Willas asks for macarons before he “finds” Jon). I realized that Willas is smarter than that. He’s going to continue the ruse as long as he needs to and wouldn’t take the risk.


End file.
